Routine
by white lotus
Summary: Just another morning at Headquarters.


**A/N - **Because I'd like to imagine I'm allowed to stand around in River's position and watch Komui look all adowwable in his sleep.

**Thanks to - **Su-chan, for reading mah random stuff.

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**Routine**

It's almost half-past five in the morning - still too far too early to be awake according to the listless pounding in River's head (urgh, even his _headaches_ were exhausted), but much too late to be asleep according to the latest influx of paperwork that's screaming for attention from the Supervisor.

Most of the Science Department are already at their desks, sluggishly processing endless pages of data and theory, and while they loved to complain, River was pretty sure that they also knew that the results of their painstaking toil was worth every waking second that they spent working.

Dawn's already splashing cold grey light on anything conscious enough to appreciate it, but the lamps are still on in the Command Room - he can see the streak of yellow slicing across the floor from the gap in the doorway. It's odd how Komui never really shuts that door. He'd said once, that it was to enable immediate access to him should something go wrong - namely, their Supervisor drowning in paperwork - but River suspects that it's more of an assurance to Rinali that her older brother is never out of reach.

Or maybe Komui just thought it'd be easier for people carrying immense stacks of paper to enter the room without having to turn the doorknob.

He's thoughtful in weird ways like that.

Which was all and good, River decides as he shoulders the door open, a task made just that slightest bit more difficult due to a small mountain of books just inside and the usual accumulation of documents that litter the floor like the contents of a resting snow-globe.

River's given up trying to pick his way to Komui's desk without treading on some paper or another - he gave it up ages ago - so he cuts a direct path, over the mess to the middle of the snow-globe where the centre piece sits, the most unusual snowman he's ever seen.

No surprise, he's fallen asleep half-way through something again, having managed to have kept his quill poised in one spot long enough for it to bleed an incredible full stop that ate up half of his last word before his body won against his will in the battle over sleep. His fingers are still pinched at the shaft of the quill, his other arm bent in a make-shift cushion beneath his head, reflex born out of habit.

He won't be happy to discover that he's spilt his coffee all over the place again; the majority of the drink has been soaked up by paper, but there's a considerable stain in his white sleeve, narrowly missing that ridiculous white beret that's slipped off his head. And it's funny, because caffeine doesn't even seem to have any effect on him, he just drinks the stuff because he'd probably suffer withdrawal symptoms if he didn't. Come to think of it, does Komui ever actually _eat_ anything...?

He looks terribly uncomfortable.

Then again, that's just the opinion of an observer who's used to sleeping (regardless of how little of it he actually does) in a bed. As far as River's aware, Komui doesn't even own one - have him crash anywhere: chair, table, couch, leaning in a closet - but never in a bed.

Heh, whatever. River's seen weirder things.

Balancing the stack of papers on the only free corner of the desk closest to Komui's left elbow, River braces himself and gives the entire load a sharp push. On the other side of the desk, another heap of documents from last week find their new home on the floor with the rest of the snow-globe's contents. In the wake of the quiet rustle of settling paper, he straightens and considers waking the Supervisor. He considers this for a very long time, and when he finally decides that he's not going to, it's already a quarter to six and Komui really should be awake anyway.

Then comes the question of how.

A nudge in the shoulder just doesn't seem to cut it - hell, if he pulled the bloody chair out from under him, the guy wouldn't so much as twitch.

And yeah. Everyone knows it's an act - another one of Komui's inexplicable quirks - like the slippers and the bunny mug and the _tasteless_ beret, but they play along with it anyhow, because frankly, immaturity, melodrama and casualties thereof considered, you couldn't help but love the idiot genius, no matter how hard you tried.

He's probably already awake now - just lying there with his eyes shut, looking all oblivious - and River has to admit, the jerk can pull it off _very _well - with his glasses at an odd angle, a fabric fold pressed into the side of his face, listening, just _waiting _for River to lean in and say -

"Hey. Allen Walker just proposed to Rinali"

He doesn't know where Komui keeps that freaky drill. But god_damn_, that guy can pull it out fast.

"He can marry her. Over my dead body."

River snorts, shrugs a _whatever_ and lifts the top page of the latest addition to the disaster zone of disorganisation.

"I don't think that'd make a very pleasant ceremony, Supervisor. Good morning. Please sign."


End file.
